


lost in duolingo

by crimson_sunset



Category: Timothée Chalamet - Fandom
Genre: Cute, F/M, Fluff, timmy chalamet - Freeform, timothee x reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24359422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimson_sunset/pseuds/crimson_sunset
Summary: Your best friend starts making comments about you in French, so you start using DuoLingo to gain an upper hand however what you manage to translate, isn't exactly what you expected.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 76





	lost in duolingo

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Lost in Translation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8954995) by [Pseudthisyafucks (collettephinz)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/collettephinz/pseuds/Pseudthisyafucks). 



If you were honest, you’d quite forgotten that Timothée could speak French but when he blurts it out to you in the middle of your shopping trip you’re left reeling from the fact that this boy has yet another talent. 

You’re posing for him outside of the shop’s changing rooms where he’s waiting patiently for you as you try something on when the words fall from his mouth like a piece of driftwood down a waterfall. 

_"Tu es la plus belle beau chose que j’ai jamais vue."_

With your high school French failing you, your face twists in confusion. 

“And in English for those of us who didn’t spend every summer in France?” You ask, turning towards the mirror inside the stall. The item you’re wearing is very expensive but once you saw it you had to at least try it. It isn’t your usual style though, so you’re unsure how to feel about it.

“I said it looks...nice,” he says suspiciously, and you know for a fact he’s lying. With narrowing eyes, you turn back around to face him. He’s hunched over on some uncomfortable but chic stool, eyes glued to his phone. 

“Really?” You say flatly. With a sarcastic hum for a reply, you walk over and snatch his phone from his hand and put it behind you back playfully. He shouts in an over dramatic anguish and his face immediately grimaces cutely, trying to reach around you.

“I think I took enough French to know that sentence was way too long to say it was ‘nice’, Chalamet. Tell me what you really said, or don’t you have the nerve to insult me to my face?” You tease, still juggling his phone between your hands. He laughs at that, his thick curly hair bouncing as he shakes his head at you.

“If you really want to know what I said, maybe you should learn some more French.” He pokes back, finally plucking his phone from your grip. Rolling your eyes, you make your way back to the stall whilst repeating his suggestion in a mocking tone. 

What you don’t realise in the moment is that you’ve just created a brand new way for Timmy to mess with you. Every time you need him to answer a question, just to annoy you he’ll answer in French. It happens when you ask him when you’re meeting, what his next film is and why he’s posting cryptid stuff on his instagram.

So you decide to surprise him.

You download DuoLingo.

You’d seen enough memes about this green owl, so you download it and select French. It becomes your little habit to do every night before you go to sleep. You don’t tell Timmy because you want to hear what he’s been saying whilst he still thinks you’re oblivious. (You pretend you don’t do the flirting module even though you do it as soon as it becomes available.)

The first time you’re actually able to make something out, you’re together at your local arcade wasting money on claw machines. When you finally manage to get the plush Pikachu you’ve been trying to get for half an hour, the rush of satisfaction goes straight to your head and you’re jumping up and down like a child being told they’re getting candy. Pulling the toy from the machine and hugging it, you hear:

_"Mon dieu tu es mignon."_

Luckily, you’d practiced your poker face at home so when you look at his adoring face you default to the normal confusion and annoyance that you would have normally had when you couldn’t understand what he was saying. However, you hadn’t rehearsed for the fact that he would call you cute.

(Do friends call each other cute?)

“Say what now?” You utter, and he chuckles as he pulls you along towards the door.

He changes the subject rather quickly, claiming you must have spent far too much money on the plushie and you nod along as you try to remember his pronunciation so that you could Google Translate what he said later to double check you were right.

(You were.)

The next time it happens, he’s about to leave for a massive film shoot somewhere abroad. Being stuck in New York wasn’t always bad, but neither of you had ever liked being apart for too long, even if you knew your friendship could survive the distance as it had for a few years now. This next shoot was three months long and as much as you knew you should be excited for him, a small selfish part of you always wished he would never leave. He’d started leaving so often recently you’d made him promise he’d always visit to say goodbye before he left. 

“Give my love to Saoirse will you? And don’t let them change your hair again, last time was terrible.” You joke, your arms around his neck and his around your waist. You’d always loved his hugs, his head always resting perfectly in the crook of your neck. 

“Oh trust me, no one is getting within 6 feet of my hair. I will fight them this time.”

You both laugh and you attempt to step back but his hands seem to trail down your arms as if he didn’t want to let you go, despite him being the one leaving. It makes the space between you so much smaller than usual, and you become aware of your chest rising as he looks at you in the brief moment of silence.

Being impulsive and needing to lessen the tension you’ve started to feel, you drag your hand through his hair just to mess it up a little for him. You love the grin he gives you that just says, Really?, eyebrows raised and all.

"I wish you didn't have to go." 

_"Si ça ne tenait qu'à moi, je serais avec toi pour toujours."_

Even if you don't quite understand the first part, you feel your breath catch at the rest. 

_-I’d be with you forever_

Improvising to keep your cover, you try to play it off. "There he goes again, the French boy. When will he learn that I speak the superior language?" You say, walking away from him to open your apartment door to regain your composure and make sure you’re not turning pink.

"English is literally just an amalgamation of most European languages, including French." He replies, suave as ever, although you can tell you've caused some suspicion.

"Sure, whatever nerd." You say, and despite being sure you’ve overcompensated he simply rolls his eyes and picks up his suitcase.

You don’t see him for four months after that, what with filming taking longer than expected and his schedule being full of interviews when he returns. It doesn’t help that he isn’t allowed his phone on set and he’s usually too exhausted to talk afterwards, although he does try and at least text you most days. The longer he’s gone, the longer you start to dwell on what you translated and whether or not your best friend might be hiding something from you.

You’re honestly expecting a pizza when you open the door to the tall boy you’ve been missing the past few months. 

“Hey, you!” you exclaim, hugging him quickly without hesitation. Feeling his arm around your waist, you move away in an attempt to let him into your flat. “I just ordered pizza if you’re hungry.”

“Ah, you’re a saint I’m starving. I hope you ordered enough for both of us.” 

“Well, maybe if you had told me you were coming I would have. I’ve only ordered one. Order another one and I’ll do halfsies with you.”

“Sounds good.”

You settle down together on your sofa, both looking at your phones as he orders what he wants to your address which he knows off by heart and you try to track yours. When your pizza arrives you both demolish it far too quickly, leaving you both yearning for more as neither of your appetites are satisfied.

“Why isn’t the food here yet.” He moans, having stretched himself across the sofa in an abnormal way, practically watching your TV upside down. You’re scrolling through your YouTube recommendations when he spots a Little Women review.

“Put the Little Women thing on please, I wanna see what they think.” He says, putting himself upright.

“Work, work, work. Is that all you think about?” You scoff with a smile, intent on searching for an infamous statistics song.

_“Tu es tous que je pense au propos.”_ , he mutters under his breath before clearly saying, “Work is important to me.” as if it were the translation.

You’re only given a brief second to compute what he’s said before he reads ‘stati-’ on the search bar and lunges at you for the remote. With your heart pounding, you manage to escape his grasp and you dodge him on the perimeter of the sofa as you select the video and set the volume so high you can’t think about his far too sweet remark. 

_You’re all I think about._

You only get through one run of Ms Lawtons before he finally manages to pry your fingers away from the remote, the volume instantly decreasing and the pair of you dropping onto the sofa together in fits of giggles. 

You’d considered your feelings for him a lot whilst he’d been away, whether or not you could handle dating a celebrity and if you could stand the possibility of the press doing anything they could for something on the pair of you. You’d honestly liked him from the moment you met, but as he wasn’t single at the time you had written him off from the beginning knowing there was no point in wanting something you could never have. 

As he snuggles up to you now, one side of him seemingly glued to yours, you can’t help but sink into the contact. Your head is fit comfortably on his shoulder as he looks at his phone and you can’t help but feel like you want this kind of contact with him regularly. 

Guess there’s no denying your crush on him anymore.

The breaking point turns out to be on a premiere night for a film Timmy finished many months ago. Normally, you’d simply congratulate him on what was nearly always another successful masterpiece and expect some funny drunk pictures to wake up to the next day. However, it’s mid-afternoon when he once again arrives at your apartment unexpectedly (which may have become a recent habit of his), holding something wrapped up in posh brown paper decorated with a string bow and a suit carrier.

“Good afternoon, Miss L/N.”

“Good afternoon Mr Chalamet. May I ask under what pretence you are here for when you have a premiere to attend in just a few hours?”

“Why, Miss L/N, I am here of course to simply ask you to accompany me.”

“Really?!” You shout, breaking the scene. “Aren’t you taking your Mom?”

“She can’t make it tonight so I thought I’d treat you instead. I’m taking you to a premiere!” He shouts in excitement.

“Oh my God!” You smile, and you hug him again this time with him lifting you up for a brief second, your voice rocketing as your feet leave the ground unexpectedly.

As he puts you down, your face drops. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have anything premiere worthy to wear.” You explain, despite feeling a bit stupid for saying it.

“I guess that’s where this comes in.”

Raising an eyebrow, you receive the brown package from his hands with care. As you pull on the end of the string bow and start to unwrap the paper you register the excitement in his eyes for you to see what he’s brought you. Looking down to the gift, a shining fabric glimmers at you and you recognise the garment immediately. It’s the dress from all those weeks ago.

“Oh my God, Timmy I love it. I can’t believe you remembered it. And that you went back and got it for me.” 

“Well, I could see how much you liked it and couldn’t believe you didn’t get it yourself. I couldn’t help myself.” He says as you hold the dress in its full length in front of you, admiring its shape and the wonderful colour which just happened to be your favourite.

“Go try it on, I came early so if I got the wrong size we can do a quick swap.” He says nervously, and you nod in reply before darting into your bedroom to change. Putting on your favourite heels underneath since the length hid your feet and letting your hair down quickly from the casual bun you’d had it in all morning, you turn towards the mirror. The fabric shimmers and fits you as if it were tailored, the shape flattering your every flaw. You feel beautiful in a way you haven’t in quite a while. Not being able to stop smiling, you step back out into the living room where he was stood waiting for you.

He stands up straight as soon as you enter, his eyes flying from his phone to you as if you were a magnet. You watch as his eyes savour every part of you and you can’t help but think his gaze makes you feel ten times more beautiful than the dress does. It even feels like it takes him a second for him to remember how to speak.

No wonder he picks the language he thinks he’s allowed to have no filter in.

_“Je pense que je t’aime.”_

It’s a phrase you honestly thought you’d never hear, the one thing you hadn’t let yourself prepare a reaction for. Your face falls in shock, your aching smile being forgotten in seconds with your body feeling frozen in place. There isn’t an ounce of subtlety in your reaction and your heart nearly stops.

_I think I’m in love with you._

“Y-You understood what I said.” He says, as if he can’t decide if it’s a question or a statement. 

You manage a minute nod, and you watch his chest rise and fall with staggered breaths.

“How long have you understood what I’ve been saying?” He asks, and you feel guilt slowly creep into your chest. “How do you even know what I’m saying?” He doesn’t sound angry as such, but you can hear the shock and discomfort he’s feeling from being found out. It dawns on you that you might have crossed a line.

“I’ve been on DuoLingo for a few months now, since I tried on this dress. I remembered more from high school than I thought.” You explain, your voice quiet and careful.

“I feel like such an idiot.” He mutters, his eyes clenched shut with his head hanging downwards and his delicate fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in humiliation.

“No Timmy, please don’t.” You say, finally breaking out of your frozen stance and putting a hand on his shoulder. “I meant for it to just be a way for me to tell what you were saying, I just thought it would be funny. And then, I finally understood what you were saying and...I finally heard what I’d wanted to hear you say since we first met.”

With that, he lets his hand fall from his face and stares fixedly at you as if he couldn’t quite tell if you really meant what you’d implied. You recognised his face as his concentrating one, where you can almost hear him thinking.

“Je t’aime aussi, Timothée Chalamet.” You whisper to him and your heart feels like it’s glowing as he grins that childish grin back at you.

_“Tu es vraiment la plus beau chose j’ai jamais vue.”_

_You truly are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen._


End file.
